


Can't Do It Alone

by orphan_account



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Bed-Wetting, Diapers, John is a Mess, M/M, Nightmares, Thumb-sucking, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4042258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Constantine is struggling with nightmares and has been waking up with soaked sheets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I'm a bit nervous about posting this, but here goes. I proofread, but I don't have a beta and might have missed some errors, so sorry if that happened. Please tell me what you think. The title is a work in progress, so if you have any alternative ideas, I'd love to here them. Thanks.

Constantine wakes with a start. He sucks in a breath, nearly choking on the gasp. He’s cold, covered in sweat, and his fingers tremble. His mind instantly thinks back to the dream, or more accurately, the nightmare. Everyone was dead, covered in their own blood. Astra, Gary, Ritchie, Anne, Corrigan, Zed, and Chas. Everyone he had ever loved was there, dead and it was his fault. John feels his dinner (if you could call half a cheese sandwich dinner) flop around his stomach, begging to come back up. 

He manages to placate his stomach, but that was when he notices the state of his bedsheets. They are soaked with his piss. This isn’t the first time this has happened; John has had the problem ever since Newcastle. This is the first time, however, that John has wet the bed three nights in a row. When if first began, it was maybe once a month, then it progressed to two or three times a month, then once a week. Now, he really has no idea whether he’d wake up wet or dry. If he keeps good pace, he’ll probably end up wetting himself like a damn infant every single night. 

Haggard and angry at himself, John pulls of his sheets and blankets. His mattress smells faintly of piss, though the smell is growing worse and worse with each accident, but the stain isn’t that noticeable. He throws the soiled linens into a pile in his closet. He’ll have to deal with them later; it’s nearly six in the morning and it’s more likely than not that Chas is already up and about. 

John sighs. He’s out of clean sheets. Both of his sets are in his closet, ruminating. The previous night, he was so tired and haunted by his nightmare. He is lucky he had managed to get the clean sheets on his bed before passing out. He pauses a moment, staring at heap of piss soaked sheets. Not for the first time, he realizes that his current way of dealing with the issue isn’t sustainable. The only other option would be… No. John refuses.

He banishes the thoughts and strips out of his sopping boxers, throwing them ion the pile with his sheets. A shower would do him good, but John doesn’t think he can get in the hot water and let his thoughts run wild. He’d end up crying, and that is the last things he wants. 

At very least, he needs to clean up the tackiness left by his piss, so he cleans himself up with a wet washcloth. He throws on his clothes, messily knotting his tie around his neck. Taking a deep breath, he forces himself to look like his normal self. 

He stares into the mirror. His eyes are red, dark smudges under them. He looks tired and gaunt, even paler than he usually does. He’s so exhausted. Something in him gives up. There’s nothing of his pride to salvage, not when he’s pissing the bed nearly every single day. He can, however, do something to help him sleep, even if it is just a bit. He doesn’t really have a choice anymore. Still, John wants to cry at the thought of it, of wearing a garment made for small children who couldn’t control himself. 

Constantine balls up his hands into tight fists, tight enough that his knuckles turn ghostly white. He lets out a shaky breath and resigns. He walks out of his bedroom, and finds, unsurprisingly, that Chas is already up, eating a plate of eggs and bacon. John feels embarrassed, as if Chas somehow knows his problem despite John’s careful measures to hide it. He looks down at the floor until he feels he heat leave his face, then he approaches Chas. 

“’Morning,” Chas offers with a nod.

John shrugs back, “I, uh, need to borrow the cab. Can I have the keys?” 

Chas looks at him suspiciously. Constantine rarely goes out, and almost never by himself, only when everyone else is busy. Chas finishes off his breakfast and sets the plate in the sink, “Where’re you going? I haven’t heard of any trouble going on.” 

“Yeah, I’m going to run an errand in town real quick. Pop in Walmart, pop out. Just need to grab something,” John replies, a bit too quick, with way too many words. He does that when he’s nervous, rambling that is.

Chas must have noticed it too, because he looks at John strangely, “I need to go get some groceries anyway. Why don’t you just write me a list and get what you need?” 

John wants to sigh, but he holds it in. He doesn’t quite know what to say. He can’t tell Chas what he needs, absolutely no way in hell he’d ever tell him. He supposes his best option is to go with Chas, split up in the store and just hope he can hide it, “Y’know, It’s probably best I go with you. You’d end up getting the wrong brand or the like.”

That does nothing to alleviate Chas’s misgivings, but John doesn’t need Chas to be unsuspicious, just unaware of what’s going on. Chas nods and gestures towards the stairs, “Let’s head out then.”

***

John thanks God that Walmart has self-checkouts. Not only does it save him the humiliation of purchasing the adult diapers in front of someone, but it allows him to triple bag the package so that it isn’t visible through the semi-translucent bags. Once he inserts the cash and gets his change, he ties up the bag and carries it over to the bench, trying to stay level headed. 

He waits patiently for Chas to come out with the groceries. His knee bounces because the anxiety is building inside him, festering and aching. Eventually, however, Chas comes out, carrying three bags in each hand. He gives Constantine and unreadable look, and asks very slowly, as if focusing on John’s reaction, “Did you get what you need?”

“Yeah. Let’s go, then? That milk needs to be put in the refrigerator,” says John as he starts to the cab. Chas just nods with a frown. 

John helps Chas load the bags into the back, but keeps his bag with him. He needs it to be in constant sight, or else something could happen and he’d be exposed. He sits in the passenger seat, his bag in his lap, staring out the window. Chas starts up the car, but doesn’t move. He turns to Constantine, “John…”

Nervous, John says, “What?”

“Are you going to tell me what that is? Or what the hell is going on with you? You’ve been acting so strange the past couple days, maybe even weeks. I’m worried. Zedd says she noticed it too,” Chas replies. His words are sincere, and his eyes are soft with concern. It almost makes John want to tell him, to spill his guts and just get it off his shoulders. Almost. 

“Nothing. It’s all o’ this shit with the Rising Darkness. High stress, you know…” John shrugs, his fingers twitching around the knot of the bags. He looks up at Chas, forcing a smile in hope that it will ease his worry. It doesn’t. 

Chas’s frown deepens, “If nothing is going on, show me what’s in the bag.” 

“Chas...” John begs. He doesn’t want to do this. He wants Chas to not care so John can get on with his misery. 

There’s something that shifts in Chas’s eyes, a hardness in them. He grabs the bag quickly and before John can even yell out, he rips open the plastic and looks at what John had bought. The hardness leaves his eyes, replaced by confusion. He stares at the package until John snatches it back, defensive and eyes shiny with hurt. “John, why…?”

John struggles with the prick behind his eyes. His breath shakes as he covers the package up with the open bag. He bites his lip nervously, “I… Oh, fuck. I’ve been having some… nightmares lately.” 

“And you’re, what? Wetting the bed?” Chas asks.

Hearing Chas say it out loud makes it impossible to hold back the hot tears any longer. He ducks his head to hide the stream of tears down his ruddy cheeks. He holds back the sobs, but it results in a choked whimper from the back of his throat. He feels ridiculous and so very embarrassed; he wants to curl up and hide from the world, and Chas, forever. “Please… Don’t tell Zed…”

John can’t bring himself to look up at Chas, he doesn’t want to see the disgust, the amusement, or whatever the hell Chas is feeling. He stares at his lap, trying to make his breathing at least somewhat even. 

Chas touches his shoulder gently, his hand heavy and comforting on him. He leans close, “It’s alright. I won’t tell her. But, John… Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped.”

“Why didn’t I- Fuck, Chas. I’m a goddamn adult. I shouldn’t be… Why in the fucking world would I tell anyone?” John sobs, hiding his face in his hands, “Jesus Christ!”

Chas wraps his arms around John, pulling him into an awkward hug over the console of the car. John doesn’t seem to mind that aspect and just leans into the touch, crying into Chas’s shoulder. Chas shushes him, “We’ll figure it out, buddy. I promise.” 

John sighs softly, pulling his hand between them to wipe his face, “Can we get back to the Millhouse?” 

“Yeah,” Chas nods, “We can talk about this tonight.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've ever posted a second chapter so quickly, but I enjoy writing this fic, so here it is. I'll write some more tomorrow but I can't promise another chapter. Thanks for reading.

Nighttime rolls around sooner than John likes. Zed is out on a date with a boy she met at the art store. Of course, she thoroughly checked him out, but John doesn’t expect her back before midnight, if she doesn’t spend the night. For that, John is grateful. He is slightly comforted by the fact that he’ll be alone, or alone with Chas, for his first night using diapers. 

He had tip toed around Chas during the day (which basically meant John hid in his bedroom once they got home and has yet to come out), but John is aware that eventually Chas is going to stop letting him avoid the subject. He is also aware that is going to be sooner rather than later. 

It’s about ten at night when Chas finally knocks on John’s door. When John doesn’t respond, Chas knocks hard, “John, I know you’re in there. Open the door.”

John sighs. He stays in his spot against the wall, a cigarette in his hand. He figures it’s at least a little bit childish to play the silent treatment with Chas, especially considering how Chas is only attempting to be helpful, but John could care less. He’s tired and bitter, and he doesn’t want to deal with his problems, not when he can ignore them just fine. He glances at the dresser where the diapers are hidden and frowns. “Go away, Chas.” 

“Seriously. Just let me in. We need to talk, okay?” Chas shouts through the door. When Constantine is still silent behind his locked door Chas huffs in frustration, “If you don’t open this door, I swear to God, I will get my screwdriver and take this door off its hinges.”

That makes John finally get up. He unlocks the door and let Chas in. He spreads out his arms in a sarcastic invitation to enter and sneers, “Happy now?” 

Chas rolls his eyes. Constantine is a stubborn bastard on a good day, it is only logical that he’d be worse in the condition he was in. He closes the door behind him and sits on the newly made up bed. There is a long stretch of silence where Chas searches for a way to start what is sure to be an awkward conversation. He sighs before beginning, “I know this is hard, John.”

John lets out a wry chuckle, “That’s one way of putting it, mate.”   
“Look, you’re my best friend, and you’re going through a rough time. Just, don’t push me away. I want to help you,” Chas explains. 

“Help how? I’m a grown man who’s pissing his bed. What are you going to do?” John asks. He’s loud and angry, his lips twisted into a spiteful frown. But he can’t look Chas in the eye. Instead, he stares down at his knee. That’s what tips Chas off to the fact that John isn’t angry at him. He’s angry at himself for what’s happening. Most people don’t see it. Anne and Ritchie think he’s an arrogant asshole who brings misery everywhere he goes with no remorse. Chas see it though, the intense hate John has for himself. Even before Newcastle, John was insecure and full of self-deprecation. It's only gotten worse and worse, and Chas honestly worries John will end up suicidal.

Chas’s expression softens so something that most people would misinterpret as pity. He frowns and kneels in front of John. He places his hand on John’s knee, trying not to the lack of body mass John sports. “This isn’t your fault. And it happens to plenty of people. I don’t think any less of you because of it. I’m here for you, alright? If you need someone to talk to or just someone to lean on… don’t hesitate to ask me.”

John cautiously peers up at Chas. His eyes are shiny with a blanket of tears. There’s something so sad and broken in them that Chas has to be careful to not let the grief he feels for John show. He smiles sadly, “You should get ready for bed. I’ll be just outside the door.”

“Wait, why? It’s only ten,” John asks.

“You haven’t got a lot of sleep lately. You need to catch up. Besides, I know you’re tired. At this point, you’re only stalling,” Chas replies as he walks out of the door. 

John scowls, and it is definitely a scowl and not a pout. He waits a moment before easing himself off the ground. He digs through his drawers until he comes across the buried package. He takes a breath to steady himself before pulling one out of the package. It’s thicker than he thought it would be and just looking at it makes him feel panicked and disgusted with himself. He has to breathe deeply before he continues. 

He strips his clothes off and throws them in the corner. He tries to put it on, but he isn’t sure which way is front and which is back, and he can’t quite get it to fit right around his legs and waist. He growls, biting his lip angrily. He drops the offensive garment on the ground and holds his head in his hand, “Fuck!”

Realizing he can’t do it, he goes to the door and cracks it open, just an inch, “Chas… Could you…Shit, do you think you could help me get the damn thing on?” 

Chas turns toward the door, looking a bit like a deer in the headlights. He isn’t quite sure what to make of the request; John isn’t one to ask for help. He nods, “Sure.” 

Chas walks in, unfazed by Constantine’s nakedness. He picks up the dropped diaper and opens it up better. He coughs and nods toward the bed, “Just, uh, lay down.”

“W-What? Why?” John stutters out, his face dark red. He’s fingers are trembling and he looks like he’s getting more and more worked up. He runs his hand through his messy (and greasy, Chas notes) hair, shrinking into himself. 

“Well, I’m going to put it on you. The proper way is with you laying down… So, just lay on the bed, okay?” Chas feels awkward, but surprisingly not as awkward as he thinks he should feel. Sure he’s seen John naked, in both a sexual and a platonic manner, but it’s another thing entirely to be putting a diaper on him. And yet, he feels strangely almost normal.

John’s face gets even redder, but he concedes and eases himself onto the bed. He lets out a soft, uncomfortable sigh, grimacing. He’s shaking harder as Chas approaches him. He lets out a startled yelp when Chas lifts his legs and slips the diaper underneath his bottom. John watches carefully, waiting for Chas to continue, but he doesn’t. “Is something wrong?” 

Chas scratches his chin, “You didn’t happen to get powder when you got the diapers, did you?” 

“Powder? Why would I need that?” John replies. He feels so stupid, so he looks to the side, not wanting to look at Chas. He covers his eyes with his arm, wishing that he could just wake up and find out it’s all just a really messed up dream. He knows it won’t happen though, and that this is one nightmare that isn’t going away, and that thought makes his eyes hot. He forces it away. He’s already too vulnerable to cry and make himself seem even more incompetent.

“Well, it… Powder helps so that you don’t get a rash from being in a wet diaper for a long period of time. And since you’ll be in one all night, it’s definitely something you’ll need…” Chas says softly, a bit embarrassed to be explaining it. 

John glances over quickly, then back to the wall, “Sorry, mate. I didn’t know. I’ll just have to make do for tonight.” 

Chas hums and tapes up the diaper, “Yeah, I guess so. You don’t have wipes either, I’ll bet. We can use a wet rag in the morning, but we’ll need to go out tomorrow to get supplies. Alright, you should be good.” 

John sits up on the bed. The diaper is thick and soft on his ass, and John doesn’t know if that makes him want to cry or smile. It crinkles with his movements, a clear reminder of what John is wearing, of what he needs to war. He longs for a cigarette, but his pack is across the room, so instead he sticks the tip of his thumb in between his teeth, “Uh, Chas?”

“Yeah?”

Blushing, John ducks his head, “Do you have some pajama pants I can borrow? I just… I can’t sleep like this…”

Chas is surprised by how shy John is acting. John is submissive in bed, or at least when he was with him he was, but even as a sub, John was demanding and snarky. Now, he’s positively coy. He nods though, “Sure. I’ve got some sweats. They’ll be big on you, but pants are pants.”

He retrieves a pair of old sweatpants for Constantine. While John steps into the clothes, Chas pulls the covers down, beckoning John over. John gives him a tiny smiles before slipping into the bed. Chas can’t help but smile back at him as he tucks the blankets around John. John touches his hand, “I know I don’t say it a lot, but thanks a lot, mate.”

“It’s no problem, John. Goodnight.” Chas doesn’t even think as he bends down to press a light kiss to John’s forehead. John doesn’t seem to mind because he closes his eyes and sighs contently. 

“G’night, Chas…”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter. I hope you like it. I hope to get Zed into the next installment and maybe Manny at some point. Thanks for reading!

The sound of Chas knocking on his door wakes John up with a start. The image of him and Zed, side by side and dead, sticks in his brain. He searches for words to reply to Chas’s knock but it’s too difficult to do while trying to also find his breath. He chokes on a sob, hot tears trickling down his face as he sits up. 

It’s that movement that helps him notice his state. The diaper is thoroughly soaked, cold and uncomfortably damp against his skin. His cheeks are hot and he feels like crawling into some hole somewhere where no one would find him so he could just curl up and die of mortification. It’s as if he doesn’t have enough terrible shit to deal with so the world fucks him over again.

“John, are you awake?” Chas asks through the door, knocking again. Constantine figures pretending to be asleep isn’t much of an option. After all, he’ll eventually need to leave his room and face Chas and there’s no use delaying the inevitable. 

John throws his blankets aside and stands up. He’s enormously grateful for Chas’s too big sweatpants that hide his shame. They are baggy enough that it can’t be seen and it hides that John actually used it. He lets out a long sigh, “Yeah, yeah, Come on in, mate.”

Chas walks in tentatively, his eyes quickly settling on John, “Hey… How’d it go? Did you sleep alright?”

John avoids Chas’s eyes, staring down his hands. He frowns, picking at his fingers to give himself something to do. He mumbles out his reply, “Depends on how you think about it, I suppose. I slept through the night, but I had another nightmare…” 

Chas frowns. “Oh. I’m sorry. Did, um, you… y’know?” 

John looks up quickly, then back down at his hands. He scoffs and shifts on his feet, hyper aware of the pissed filled garment between his legs, “Yeah. I… Uh, I hate to ask but I’m not… I’m not quite sure how to… I’ve never dealt with… Aw, fuck.” 

Chas catches on quickly and his cheeks dust pink. He stammers, “Y-Yeah, I can do it. I just need you to lay down again. I’m going to go get a wet washcloth.”

“Alright,” John replies softly. He gets in the same position as last night. He sighs and squirms a bit, shameful and embarrassed. He waits patiently for Chas to come back with the wet rag, just watching the ceiling fan go around and around. It was almost mesmerizing, so when Chas touched his knee, Constantine jerked in surprise. 

“Hey, it’s alright. It’s just me,” Chas soothes him. He murmurs a soft “it’s okay” as he pulls the sweatpants off as if he were consoling a fussy baby getting changed. John almost laughs at how ironically fitting that was, but he holds it in and chooses instead to just frown. He isn’t able to bring himself to watch Chas work, so he stares back up at the ceiling. Sticking his thumb halfway into his mouth, he silently wishes he had a cigarette to calm his nerves, though his thumb, he finds, does just as well. 

When Chas pulls at his wrist, John looks up at him, “What?”

Chas rolls his eyes at John’s tone, but drops his hand, “Don’t do that, you don’t know what kind of germs live on your thumb.” 

John sneers up at him with a huff, “Alright, Daddy.” The sarcastic response falls short. It isn’t effective like it has been before, and it definitely because of the awkward (and surprisingly increasingly less so) situation. John blushes, “Sorry, that didn’t go how I planned. Let’s ignore that, yeah?”

“Yeah. Uh, you’re all clean, so… I’ll go start the car up. We’ll get breakfast on the way to the store,” Chas replies with a strange softness in his eyes. He gives John an encouraging smile as he leaves the room. 

John sits up and holds his head in his hands, “Nice going, John. Real smooth.”

***

John follows Chas into the store, trying not to get too far behind him, though Chas’s gait is much longer than his. He feels like a baby duck trailing after its mother, and finds it difficult to resist the urge to hold onto the back of Chas’s shirt or, God forbid, hold his hand. He desperately wants to, though, and that only makes him want to smack himself upside the head. 

He feels awkward and vulnerable, like all eyes are him, judging him as if they could possibly know his secret. He bites his thumb and stares down at the dirty tiles. Maybe if he bites hard enough the pain will distract him from the people around him. He wishes he could just disappear. 

Chas grabs his free arm at the elbow and pulls him forward. He’s not rough as he tugs him. In fact the firm but comfortable grip on his arm makes John feel just a small bit safer. Chas says, “Come on John. Don’t lag behind. 

“Sorry,” John mutters around his thumb. He ups his pace just a little to keep up with Chas’s long strides. His hands ae shaking and he feels kind of scared, but he tells himself that he already got the diapers, that this shouldn’t be worse, especially not with Chas there. 

They get to the diaper aisle and Chas starts staring at the options. John just watches, silent and curious, as Chas grabs a bottle of baby powder and a box of wipes. When Chas grabs a tube of something, John quirks a brow, “What’s that?”

“Ointment in case you get a rash. Trust me, if you get one, you’ll want this. Go, when Geraldine would get a rash there was almost nothing you could do to calm her down. She’d cry and cry until it was mostly gone,” Chas says. He looks over at John and sighs. He pulls the thumb away, “Seriously John? Is this going to become a problem?”

John shrugs, his cheeks red and warm with blush, “I don’t know. I kinda like it better than cigarettes.” 

Chas ponders that a moment before nodding, “Yeah, I guess I can’t complain when you haven’t smoked in two days. But you should still wash your hands before and after you do that. It’s not sanitary. Or maybe… no, never mind.”  
John looks curious and shakes his head, “Wait, no, tell me.”

“No, trust me, John, you don’t want to know. Let’s just go back to the mill house. Zed’s probably back by now and we didn’t leave a note,” Chas says. He takes John’s arm again and leads him to the front of the store. 

John stops halfway to the front, causing Chas to stop too. On the shelf is a stuffed animal, a plush lion to be specific. It had obviously been abandoned by someone who changed their mind because it sat with a display of notebooks and pens. John felt something constrict in his chest, like he longed for the toy. He banished the idea and looked away, ashamed for wanting something like that. He was a grown man, despite recent events. 

He moves to start walking again, but Chas pulls him back, “Do you want that?”

John lets out a dry laugh, like the mere suggestion was completely ludicrous, “Uh, no.”

“John. If you want it, get it,” Chas encourages. His eyes hold no malice, no judgment, just concern and affection. It’s not a look John is used to, even from Chas who is usually either annoyed or amused by him. 

John stares as the stuffed lion again, and then back to his feet. He sniffs and sighs, “Yeah, I want it…” 

Chas just smiles softly and grabs it, setting it in the basket. When John still looks humiliated, Chas puts his arm around John, “Don’t worry about it, man. I don’t think any less of you. If I’m being honest. I think it’s… kind of cute.” 

John looks up him, a bit shocked, “Really? It’s not… weird?”

“Maybe, but who gives a fuck? You’re not hurting anyone. I know sometime I can get frustrated with you, but I just want you to be happy, John, that’s all,” Chas explains as they walk back to the front of the store. 

John smiles, “Thanks, Chas.”


End file.
